So hot; the sky a pasty sun burn,
blades of grass like colorless straws
poke through dehydrated dirt,
like little cacti spines
the state sandpapered
from Gustnado attacks,
thundering clouds arrive
air displaces
in a cooling dance,
of fury
the aroma changes
as the first rain drops land
angry
annoyed
at another meteorological event.
With vengeance:
barren water banks over flow,
roads become inaccessible,
floods take over,
thunder and lightening take confront the sky.
Gone, as quickly as it came
leaves turned green,
dehydrate, moments later
hoping
next year’s monsoon will not forget:
the Sonoran Desert.

My motherland sinks; as the habitat is ferociously guzzled, from the Desert Sonora –
Development; devastating the lands that in eighteen sixty where home to Geronimo.
I found refuge; in a land fabricated by decomposed flora; composing the Offaly móna –
Innocence still exists; in what – ‘was known’ – as the ‘Kings County’ when the land was raided; in aid of filling a portfolio.
The Celts and Apaches; warriors of land, living peacefully – until the period of acquiring territories.
Cultures rich; dating back to Neolithics; living nomadicly; complimenting the climate –
The race to acquire; had no value for humans; throwing them all into purgatory.
Magistrates; had no compassion; instead purchased bloodstained goblets, from muskets.
Born with no enclosures; these cultures ended; in poverty-stricken prisons.
Warned by the sun, rocked by the winds, sheltered by the trees; they lived peacefully –
Taken from their homes; they became sick and died – decisions to not provide nutrition; where not revisited.
Martyrs; died in bondage; only wished their offspring returned home, legally.
Borders remain; small minds impoverish individuals – but why?
Each child; deserves the chance to receive a lullaby; in an unpaid liberty; free from alibi.